


Even Scientists Should Read the Classics

by AlumbianChronicler



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Friendship, Modern Era, Other, Platonic Relationships, The Frankenstein appreciation discord is to blame for this, We were discussing how few creature/reader fics are non-smut, and I mentioned a plot idea, and they said I should write it, have a fluffy thing, so here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlumbianChronicler/pseuds/AlumbianChronicler
Summary: You, a biology major in college, are having some trouble with one of your elective courses.  Unfortunately, the class fills a requirement and you can't drop it, so you're stuck with it.  Thankfully, you meet someone all too happy to discuss classical literature over quiet evenings in the woods overlooking the river.
Relationships: Frankenstein's Creature/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The author has little actual opinion on the Aeneid, not having actually read it. It was just the first thing that popped in my head.

You knew taking that class was going to be a mistake. If you aren’t struggling to keep up with the reading, you’re floundering in class discussions, trying to convince everyone else that you know what they’re talking about.

It would be easier if you found any of the reading _interesting,_ but none of it seems to compel you.

A biology major should not have to take a classics course, and that’s that.

But, you’re enrolled, and it’s past the deadline for dropping the class, so you’re stuck with it and whatever grade you end up with.

You should be reading now, though once again you can’t bring yourself to delve into the dry ramblings of irrelevant texts. Instead, you find yourself walking from your dormitory to the college’s nature preserve. It’s a quiet place, laying across an old train-bridge and consisting of a sprawling forest. You haven’t ever seen oak trees as large as the ones there; massive, twisting giants older than the college itself.

You seat yourself at the base of one of the trees, beside the river that runs through the preserve. There’s a woodpecker somewhere nearby, beating a tattoo into a tree in search of insects, and you look up in search of it, hoping to identify it.

Your attempt is futile, though, and you settle back down to watching the river and ignoring your homework. It’s a lovely day, but eventually, the guilt of procrastination tugs at your brain enough that you pull out your copy of the Aeneid and try, once again, to read it. You get a few pages through before once again finding yourself bored and setting it aside in favor of watching the pair of ducks paddling past you on the river.

You only stay out there another half hour before deciding to return to your room, walking back across the old train-bridge and back onto the college campus. It isn’t until you get back that you realize you left your copy of the book in the forest, and by that time, you really aren’t inclined to go back and get it.

If anything, it gives you a reason to avoid reading it for another night.

You have no classes the next day, so after dressing and eating breakfast, you head back out to the forest. As much as you don’t _want_ to read that book for class, you need to if you’re going to participate in the class discussion the following day. So… back to the river-side you go to recover your book.

It isn’t until you’re nearly at the tree you sat under the previous day that you spot the large, hunched figure sitting underneath, a book held carefully in his over-sized hands. _Your_ book.

You stop, vague thoughts of all the warnings you’ve been given to avoid strangers running through your mind, and as you stand there, the stranger seems to realize he’s being watched. He looks up, for a moment turning to look at you before he, too, freezes. You can only see part of his face, and you aren’t sure whether it’s the dappled light from the trees or if his face really is that rough and scarred.

You can nearly see him consider his next action, and you’re about ready to just turn and leave when he slowly closes your book and sets it on the ground beside him. “I apologize,” he says, and your resolve to flee fades into curiosity. His voice is deep, vaguely rough but at the same time smooth, each word seemingly well-practiced before it’s spoken. “This book… is yours?”

You nod, and then manage to find your voice. “Yes. I… forgot it here yesterday.”

He nods, turning his head away from you so you can no longer see anything of his features. You try not to feel ashamed at the relief you feel as he turns away. “You may have it back,” he says slowly. “I will leave you be.”

You stand motionless as he slowly stands, still resolutely turned away from you. He’s impossibly tall, far taller than any person you’ve seen, and you wonder what sort of genetic condition he may have that caused such impractical height.

He’s walking away from you, and nearly too far for practical hailing before you realize that you want to ask him something.

“Wait!”

He pauses, but doesn’t turn toward you.

“That book… did you… like it?” you ask.

It doesn’t seem to be the question he expects, and he nearly turns to look at you again before stopping himself. “Yes,” he replies simply.

“Are you a student?”

He pauses before answering that question. “If I say I am not, will you turn me in? Will you have me driven away?”

There’s a sadness in his questions, a sense that he already anticipates your answer.

“The nature preserve is open to the public. What would I say, that there’s some tall guy sitting by the river reading a book?”

He pauses in surprise, then chuckles; a deep, rumbling sound. “I suppose that is true,” he replies. “But why ask if I enjoy the book? Do… you not?”

You shake your head. “Honestly, I think it’s terrible. I just took the classics class to fill a requirement.”

“A requirement?”

“Yeah, you know, a class to ‘broaden your horizons’ or whatever. I’m a biology major.”

For a long moment, he’s silent, and since you can’t see his face, it’s difficult to know just what he thinks of your words. But finally, he speaks again. “A scientist in training, then?”

“Maybe someday.”

He nods slowly. “Would it be… would you be willing to let me borrow that book when you are finished with it?”

“You want to borrow _that?_ ” You point at the book, still sitting on the ground under the large tree, though he can’t see you pointing.

“I didn’t finish it,” he admits, “and I am curious as to how it ends.”

You shake your head incredulously and go to pick up your book. “I’ll tell you what. We’re finishing it tomorrow. I’ll bring it back here after class. If you really want to read it that badly, you can have it.”

He nearly turns to face you at this news, and you catch another glimpse of his face. Definitely scarred, and not just the lighting. “Thank you,” he says, and you can hear the excitement in his expressive voice.

“Do you… not know what a library is?” you ask, suddenly anxious again. You don’t even know who this stranger is. He’s huge, and who knows where he comes from, and if he doesn’t even know that he can go to a library for books...

“I… am not comfortable entering such places,” he admits. “Surely you’re frightened of me, just standing here and not even having seen my face?”

Oh. Of _course_ someone so obviously... unordinary would be uncomfortable around potential crowds. “Right,” you say after a moment of silence. “I’ll… bring the book tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, quieter this time, and walks deeper into the forest and out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of class the next day, a strange giant in the woods is the least of your worries, as you’re pretty sure you’re going to fail the class. You had very little to contribute to discussion, and when the professor had called on you for your opinion, you froze with nothing to say.

It was, by all measures, a disaster.

The bright sun shining down on the river underneath the train-bridge nearly blinds you, small sparkles glinting from the lazily flowing river. You’re relieved to gain the dappled shadow of the forest, the sound of birdsong far more welcome than your classmates’ voices.

You really aren’t sure whether that man’s going to  _ actually _ be there to give your book to, but you figure you have nothing else to do except panic, so it’s worth the walk at least.

But there he is, sitting at the base of the large tree on the river-bank. At first, you think he’s asleep, his head tilted back against the tree trunk and his hands resting loosely in his lap. But as you approach, you think that he  _ must _ be  _ dead _ . His face, now that he isn’t hiding it from you, is indeed heavily scarred, and more than that, the skin is stretched tight, like it dried and shrunk. His skin is yellowed as with jaundice, and his lips are thin and blackened like a mummy’s. His mouth is slightly open like a dead...

Oh, thank goodness. He breathed.

But what sort of condition…

You shake your head, trying to remind yourself that whatever disorder this man had, he had been nothing but polite when you ran into him before. And if  _ someone _ was going to get enjoyment out of the stupid book in your backpack, he may as well.

You clear your throat as you approach, and his eyes open and snap to yours with frightening sharpness. For a moment, you meet those unnaturally pale eyes, then look away at the same time he turns to again hide his face behind long, black hair. You take a breath, pushing aside the shock of that gaze, and begin to speak, “I didn’t think you’d…”

“I doubted you would…” he said at the same time.

You both pause, and then you clear your throat again and swing your backpack from your shoulders. “I brought the book,” you say.

“I do appreciate it,” he says quietly.

“No problem,” you reply as you unzip the pack and pull out the thin book. “It’s not like I’m ever going to actually read it.”

“You didn’t finish it? I thought it was an assignment for your class?”

You hesitate, then sigh. “I couldn’t get through it. It’s just too… I don’t know. Too abstract. I don’t get why a story has to be put into poetry like that. It should just say what it means.”

This seems to have piqued his curiosity past the point of hiding himself, and he finally turns to really look at you. “I can’t say I have faced that difficulty before. The first story I cherished was metered.”

“Lucky you,” you reply wryly.

This seems to amuse him. “Lucky?” He chuckles. “I have been many things, but rarely  _ lucky _ .”

You have to admit his self-deprecating humor pulls a slight smile from you, putting you more at ease. There’s still a sense of  _ offness _ about his appearance, about his bearing, but you don’t get any sense of maliciousness from him.

You step closer and hand over the book, which he accepts. His hands are similarly worn as compared to his face, still crossed with those strange long and linear scars. He’s careful not to touch you when he takes the book, and you wonder just how much trouble his appearance has caused him.

“This sort of thing is what you like to read, then?” you ask as he draws his hand away from you and rests the book in his lap. “Classic, epic poetry?”

“I enjoy most stories,” he states. “When I can obtain them. Reading has helped me pass many otherwise-grim hours.”

You sit nearby, leaning against your backpack. He glances at you with what you guess to be surprise, but doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean,” you say, “I can appreciate that. I love a good novel, but,” you shake your head. “I prefer less... symbolism. Less forcing the story into a form.”

He makes a vague noise in reply, and for a while you both sit in silence, looking over the river.

“You know,” you say after mulling over the idea for several minutes, debating whether it would really be a good idea to offer this to someone you barely know, “if you know what you’re looking for, I can check some books out for you from the library.”

He looks at you quizzically, and you get the sense that he doesn’t quite believe you. “Why?” he asks.

“It gives me an excuse to avoid homework and come out to the woods,” you reply. “And it doesn’t really seem fair that I have to read things I don’t want to while you can’t read what you do want.”

His gaze lingers thoughtfully on you for another long moment before he turns to look back at the river. “I would appreciate it,” he replies quietly.

You’re about to nod and pack up to leave when he begins to speak again.

“And…” He falls silent, and it seems he’s nervous to continue.

“Yeah?” you ask encouragingly.

He takes a breath then speaks. “If you would be interested, I would like to return the favor by showing you how I view these stories you haven’t been able to connect with. Could I… read it to you?”

You consider the offer. It never really occurred to you to try  _ listening _ to your homework instead of reading it, but you have to admit, the thought of sitting in the forest, listening to this strange man’s expressive voice, seems like a nice way to spend the afternoon once or twice a week.

And maybe that could save your grade, too.

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” you agree. “What... uh, what’s your name?”

“Adam,” he replies, smiling at your agreement to the idea.

You give him your name, and the two of you make plans to meet three days hence, with the next book on your syllabus and a few books he asked for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am accustomed to neither second-person, nor present-tense writing, so I apologize for discrepancies.

The morning of the third day out dawns wet, and you’re worried that you might not be able to meet Adam out in the forest at the arranged time. You’re not sure what would happen if either of you failed to show up. Probably nothing. Probably, you would both just go back to your life as it was before meeting.

You have to admit, you don’t want that to happen. You’re curious about the strange man, who appears so gruesome but seems so… gentle? No… not gentle. You got the sense that he could be very frightening if he so chose, hence why he had taken such pains to put you at ease. No, gentle isn’t the right word. Deliberate? Conciliatory?

You honestly aren’t sure what the best word  _ is _ to describe his manner.

By afternoon, the rain has eased, sun breaking through the clouds in occasional and brief flashes. The forest still drips occasionally as you walk through, and you’re glad that you thought ahead enough to bring a small blanket to sit on. There are three books in your backpack, two that Adam asked for, and then a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy, which was the latest torture on the class’s reading list.

You were specifically entreated to make note of characters mentioned in the epic poem whom you recognized from previous readings, and you are sure you will miss many such mentions that your classmates will catch.

You spot Adam long before you reach the tree, his bulk a large dark form beside the trunk. As you approach, you note that he again has that copy of the Aeneid. Surely he would have finished it by now? Maybe he's re-reading it?

He looks up as you approach, and his strange eyes light up with excitement.

There’s a strange infectiousness to his mood, and you find yourself smiling a bit as you pull out the blanket and spread it on the ground near him. Adam himself is simply seated on one of the tree’s roots, appearing entirely unfazed by his damp surroundings.

“I doubted you would return,” he says.

“You said that last time.”

“It’s still true.”

There’s an ache behind those words, you think. An old, lonely hurt. You glance away from him, busying yourself pulling out the books in your pack. “You’re awfully willing to show up, for someone who doesn’t think the other person’s going to be there,” you comment.

He’s silent for a moment before replying. “Hope has been a weakness of mine for a long time.”

“Yeah, I bet,” you say reflexively, before realizing that was insensitive. You look at him, a bit nervous. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Adam shrugs. “I have grown used to people’s reactions to my appearance. You may as well ask what questions you have now, lest they hang uncomfortably between us.”

You frown, considering just how many times he’s had to answer the same questions. And yet… you are morbidly curious, and he is offering.

“Is there a name for your… condition?” you ask.

At this, he chuckles; that deep, rumbling sound which you can nearly feel. “No. I am… unique. There are drawbacks, certainly, even beyond my wretched appearance, but I have settled into the form I’ve been given.”

Considering this, you nod. Really, that satiates a lot of your curiosity. “Do you live near here?” you ask.

“For now.” A shadow crosses his expression. “I don’t live in one place for more than a few years at a time.”

“Are people really that afraid of you?” you ask. Sure, he looks… ok, he’s a little terrifying at first. You’ve never seen someone as tall as him, and his general appearance is more than a little… corpse-like. But he’s more articulate than most people you know, and obviously knows how he affects people, as evidenced by how he had diverted his face upon your meeting.

“Not as much as they used to be,” he admits. “But I am still… uncomfortable with settling in one place. I have always wandered from place to place, and that is a difficult habit to break.”

Before you can respond, he gestures toward the books in your hands. “What is your class reading now?”

You had nearly forgotten the reason you actually arranged this meeting, and you hand over the small stack.

“Dante’s Divine Comedy,” you reply. “I expect boring religious drivel.”

He smiles. “It is more, I recall, a… what is the phrase? A diss track, very poorly veiled as religious drivel.”

This actually pulls a laugh from you, and you settle your backpack against a rock so you can lean against it without getting wet. “I guess I’ll give it a shot, then,” you reply, “if it comes so highly recommended. We’re doing the Inferno first, since I expect no one would care otherwise.”

He nods, and flips through to the appropriate passages. As a brief shot of sunlight breaks through the cloud-cover, Adam begins to read.

"In the midway of this our mortal life,

I found me in a gloomy wood, astray

Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell

It were no easy task, how savage wild

That forest, how robust and rough its growth,

Which to remember only, my dismay

Renews, in bitterness not far from death."

His voice is compelling, pulling a cadence from the words you’ve never been able to hear in your own head while attempting to read it, and you find yourself sinking into the story, listening to the rise and fall of Adam’s voice.

It’s nearly an hour later when he finally pauses at the end of one of the cantos, and you tear your absent gaze away from the river to him. He’s looking at you with a small smile. “Is the story interesting enough to hold your attention?”

“It’s better than I thought it would be,” you have to admit, and stretch, realizing you’ve hardly moved over the past hour.

“Should I continue?” he asks.

You check your phone and grimace. “As much as I would like to, I have to go grab dinner.”

He nods and returns the copy of Divine Comedy to you. “I will return these upon our next meeting,” he states, holding up the other two books. It’s almost a question, as if he’s unsure whether you’re willing to meet again.

“Whenever you finish them is fine,” you reply. The next day is your busy day, with all but one of your classes meeting, so the two of you plan for two days out to meet again and finish the Inferno. 

Before you leave, you pause and ask, “do you have a cellphone, just in case something happens before we meet?”

“I do not.”

“Alright... That’s fine.” It doesn’t matter too much, but maybe you’ll pick up a cheap pre-paid phone for him. You worry that something will happen; something to end these strange meetings in the woods that you’re already looking forward to. But that’s unlikely… right? What could happen?


	4. Chapter 4

Before your next meeting with Adam, you make a run to the store and pick up a simple, prepaid phone. Unfortunately, a series of random, individually-small incidents accumulate and lead to you being nearly an hour late.

You aren't entirely sure how he keeps track of time, but you're sure he's been there waiting for you the whole time. Whether he stayed and waited despite your absence you aren't sure, and you're worried he will have already left by the time you're crossing the train bridge and stepping into the forest.

He's there and waiting for you, though, and he stands as he spots you, the relief in his manner obvious even from down the path.

"I'm sorry," you say as you approach. "I got held up in town." You're already holding the phone's box in your hand, and wave it so he can see. "I got you something."

For a moment, Adam reaches out to you, and you almost think he's going to pull you into a relieved hug when he pauses and settles with a smile, dropping his hand.

"You didn't need to buy me anything," he says. "The fact that you've arrived is enough to appease my worry."

You smile and hold out the phone in its box, complete with charger and instructions. "I'm late  _ because _ I was getting you this. We can use it to plan, and if anything happens, we can adjust our plans to suit."

He tilts his head slightly as he considers this, eying you with a thoughtful look. "I see," he says, and gently accepts the box, looking it over.

It looks small in his hands, and the phone itself is smaller still when he pulls it out. It's nearly comical, seeing such a small, fragile piece of technology in the grip of someone so large. You just hope he knows how to use it. Seriously, who doesn't have a cell phone nowadays?

Adam returns the phone to its box and carefully closes it back up. "Thank you," he says, daring to meet your eyes. "It… has been very rare that someone has done something like this for me."

You shuffle a bit uncomfortably under his regard, embarrassed by the sincerity in his voice. "Hey, I just want to pass my class," you reply.

He chuckles and turns to return to his spot at the base of the large tree. "Then let us continue with the story?" he suggests.

You nod and join him, sitting on the ground nearby, your back resting against another tree. The forest is drier than it was a couple days ago, and a slight breeze and the shade keeps it cool enough that you almost wish you brought a jacket.

"I did finish the books you brought me last time," Adam adds as you sit.

"Oh. I didn't think you were serious when you said you'd have them done by now…" you reply. You didn't bring him any other books from his list, and you feel a bit bad about that oversight.

Adam waves a hand at your words. "Next time is fine. I appreciate any material you can bring me." He holds out a hand to you. "The Inferno?"

You nod and hand over the copy of Divine Comedy. He flips to the page the two of you left off on and starts reading.

You don't mean to fall asleep, but the sun slants through the trees right to where you sit, and Adam's voice rolls like a distant summer thunderstorm as he reads.

You aren't sure how long he kept reading after you dozed off, but when you stir awake he's sitting silently, watching the river. The sun has dipped lower in the sky and you estimate more than an hour has passed.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he states apologetically, hearing you move, "and so I didn't wake you. I… hope you didn't have anywhere to be?"

"No," you reply, yawning. "No other plans today." You shift so a bump in the tree is at another spot against your back. You feel kind of bad for wasting  _ his _ time, actually. "Sorry, I promise your reading is interesting…"

He laughs, more than his usual reserved chuckle. "I have more than enough time on my hands," he replies, and he eyes you thoughtfully for a moment before adding, "and I am appreciative that you feel comfortable enough to drowse off."

"You really mean that, don't you," you state.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Why wouldn't he? Why…  _ would _ he? "Have you never had anyone trust you that much?" you ask. It seems so strange, in a world of modern medicine and understanding, but would also explain a lot.

"There have been a few," he replies, his smile fading, "but they are dead now."

"Oh. So… you're alone?"

"I have always, ultimately, been alone."

There is so much heaviness behind his words that you frown, looking over that scarred and gaunt face. "That's a terrible way to live," you say quietly.

His smile returns ever so slightly, though it is a rueful one. "I did not ask to live, and this is my penance for receiving a life I did not deserve. Don't bother yourself with my loneliness, friend. It is eased for now, and that is what matters."

You eye him for a moment longer, unsure how to reply to his words. Finally, you sigh and nod. "Just… feel free to contact me if you need anything?" you offer. "I'll be here."

He holds up the small box with the cellphone inside, his slight smile broadening. "I will, and thank you. It heartens me to hear someone say that."

You nod, then after a pause add, "would you be willing to read another couple chapters?"

"Of course," Adam replies graciously, opening up the book once more and reading on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased by the feedback I'm getting! I'm glad so many people are enjoying my little plot-bunny :)
> 
> This one is a shorter chapter, but I think the next one should be a bit longer.

The next week brings rain nearly every day. It rains enough that the usually-placid river flows quickly, the water brown and murky instead of clear. You can’t see the bottom of it as you cross the bridge, though usually it’s no more than a couple of feet deep.

You’re early this time, the first to the old oak tree by the river. The ground is thoroughly muddy, though the rain has eased. You tried to contact Adam, texting him to ask if he still wanted to meet even with the weather conditions, but haven’t yet received a reply.

The river gurgles noisily as you lean against the oak tree, your gaze on the direction you’ve seen Adam leave in each time you’ve met so far. You wonder absently about his family. You got the idea they weren’t particularly supportive of him, or if they were, that they’re the ones now dead that he spoke of. What was his mother like? His father? Does he have siblings?

What must it be like to be that alone? Not only without family, but without the simple social comforts most people take for granted. Sure, you spend a lot of time in the laboratory or in your room immersed in studying, but that’s by choice. You can leave and meet with friends whenever you want. Adam doesn’t even feel comfortable going to a  _ library _ .

You pull out your cell phone again. The screen remains dark; no new incoming texts. You look back up, and there he is, coming down the path toward the riverbank. You’re relieved to see him, having started to worry that he wasn’t going to show up, and that maybe you would never hear from him again.

As he approaches, he pulls out the cheap phone you got him, frowning apologetically. “I apologize for not replying to your message,” he says, “but I could not manage a properly-spelled reply on this keyboard. My fingers are, I fear, too large.”

That was not something you ever considered would be a problem.

“Oh. We… can probably set up speech-to-text, then?”

His eyes light up with excitement. “Is that something that can be done? That would be much easier.”

“Of course.” You hold out a hand for the phone, which he happily hands over. It takes a few minutes, but you figure out the easiest way to get the phone to translate speech into texts, and show Adam how to work it. He listens intently, leaning over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. The previous week, his looming may have made you uncomfortable, but today you’re just glad he showed up.

“We should figure out a secondary meeting place,” you suggest after handing the phone back, “in case the weather’s bad. Somewhere inside?”

Adam hesitates. “There are few places I can safely enter.”

“You could come back to my place,” you suggest. “It’s a campus apartment, but my roommate is hardly ever there.”

He considers this for a brief moment, then shakes his head. “I would rather not incite an incident on the college campus that could cause problems for you, or make it impossible for us to meet in  _ this _ spot as well.” He hesitated, then added, “I have a house on the edge of the town. Would you be willing to come there?”

You don’t think he expects you to accept the offer, his voice trailing off as he finishes the question, glancing away from you uncertainly.

“If I wouldn’t be intruding, sure,” you agree. It’s not like it would be any more dangerous than meeting in the middle of the woods, and by now you are certain this shy man who likes epic poetry isn’t secretly a serial killer.

His gaze snaps to you at your agreement, surprised. A pleased smile slowly crosses his lips as he nods. “No intrusion at all. It would be my delight to entertain a guest.”

You smile at his phrasing. His eloquence is endearing, a quirk of his that you're growing to like.

"We're on Paradiso now," you say, moving on to the reason you're both out in the muddy forest. "And I brought you two more books from your list."

You pull the books out of your bag and hand them over, placing the ones Adam is returning to the library into the bag in their place. He looks over the new copies, making a quiet, pleased noise as he tucks them underneath the copy of Divine Comedy.

He looks around, seeking out a less-muddy place to sit, and ends up seating himself on a nearby tree stump. You sit on a low tree branch, still damp but much less muddy than the ground, and settle in for another listen.

Paradiso isn’t as interesting as Inferno. Apparently Dante was more interested in punishing his rivals than in rewarding those he looked up to. Still, as Adam reads on, you find yourself absorbing more of the story than you would have on your own, and you’re finally hopeful that you’ll pull your grade back up into an acceptable range.

The two of you don’t remain out there as long today. It’s damp, and the breeze is starting to bring in more clouds, threatening further rain. It smells like fall, and you’re looking forward to cooler temperatures, though this persistent rain is frustrating.

“I do like the rain,” Adam commented as he handed back your book, looking at the quickly-clouding sky.

“Why?” you ask. You are genuinely curious, since you were just thinking about the rain yourself.

“The sun is too bright,” he replies. “It hurts my eyes, and makes my disfigurement all too visible. The rain is comforting, melancholy but familiar in that feeling.”

“And it’s good weather for reading?” you suggest.

He smiles. “Indeed.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure that after 200ish years, Adam has a decent chunk of money saved from various sources, so... *handwaves the house*
> 
> Also... just a tiny touch of angst, like salt on caramel.

The weather hasn’t cleared two days later, and you find yourself slogging to class along mildly-flooded sidewalks. Your phone glows limpidly in the cloud-covered day, a reply coming through. Adam sent you the address of his house, and the two of you have agreed to meet there today.

You’re a little apprehensive, given that you haven’t actually interacted with him anywhere except the nature preserve. You’re also fairly certain that he’s more nervous about it than you.

Has he had anyone over before? Probably those former friends he referenced, though if they were around so long ago, surely he would have been a child at that time.

After class, you return briefly to your apartment to drop off some things and gather others. You have another couple books for Adam, fairly sure that he will have the ones you brought him two days ago finished already, in addition to the new book your class is reading. The pace your professor is setting really is brutal, but at least you’re able to engage in class discussions more easily now.

You’re nearly looking forward to this book, after the last one turned out more interesting than you expected.

And then… and then you’re  _ finally  _ moving on from metered classics into actual prose. You only hope Adam’s still interested in your bi-weekly reading sessions then…

It’s raining again by the time you leave your apartment, and you’re glad you remembered to grab your umbrella on your way out. The city isn’t large, and it’s no more than a half hour walk to the old section on the edge of town where Adam’s house is apparently located.

It’s a much nicer house than you expected; an old Victorian with two stories. The yard is a little rough, a mat of native wild-flowers taking the place of curated flowerbeds surrounding, but somehow that suits the house.

The house itself is well-maintained. From what you can see, there’s no sign of decay in the trim or wooden tiling, and the windows are all stained glass and intact. The inside is dark, but it’s light enough even with the cloud-cover that that’s not entirely surprising, and Adam mentioned being light-sensitive, anyway.

You walk up to the door and pause for a moment before knocking.

There’s a thumping from inside, and you can hear something crashing and muffled swearing before the door opens.

It’s a little unnerving, seeing Adam’s height in the context of an actual house. It’s one thing to see him in the forest, surrounded by ancient oaks and a wide river, but another to see him, eight feet tall, in a  _ doorway _ . You recover quickly, though. “Are you alright?” you ask.

“You… heard that?” he replies cautiously.

“Yeah.”

“It was just… a chair,” he says, running one hand through his long hair in embarrassment. “Do you… Um, come in, please.”

Adam steps aside and gestures you in, where you see just  _ why _ Adam lives in this house. The ceilings are higher than any house made in more recent times, and he can actually stand upright inside, instead of having to slouch like you’re sure he would need to do in your own apartment. He closes the door behind you and gestures toward a series of hooks on the wall nearby.

“You can hang your umbrella and jacket here if you like,” he states. “You may keep your shoes on or remove them as you please.”

You obligingly hang up your wet umbrella, and do remove your shoes, as they are fairly muddy by now. You note that Adam again runs his hand through his hair nervously before nodding and leading you further into the house.

The house isn’t very furnished, which makes it seem nearly uncomfortably empty. It fits the house’s occupant, though, and you’re sure it helps Adam feel more comfortable to be able to move around more easily without knocking into things. Except for the sturdy dining chair that he rights as you follow him in. Apparently he was in a hurry to answer the door.

There’s an electric kettle on the kitchen counter, just switching off as you enter.

“Would you like tea?” Adam asks. “I don’t have a proper tea set… anymore. I use coffee mugs, which are less likely to break, and I do hope that is acceptable.”

“Yeah, I’ll take tea,” you reply. “Why wouldn’t mugs be ok?”

He starts to answer, pauses and frowns, then shrugs, conceding the point. “I do not want you to think I’m a bad host.”

You stare at Adam for a moment, then smile. “I live across from a frat house,” you say. “You are absolutely fine.”

“Oh.” He seems reassured by that, and begins preparing the tea. “Is your class starting a new book?”

“Yeah, Paradise Lost.”

He pauses, looking at you with an odd expression. Mostly, you think he’s happy at the prospect, but there’s something sad in his pale eyes.

“Is that… ok?” you ask cautiously. You don’t want to ask him to read anything he doesn’t like.

“Of course!” he replies emphatically and returns to preparing the tea. “Paradise Lost was one of the first things I remember reading. The story has always been close to my heart.”

“Oh, good,” you say, though you’re still a little cautious. Adam’s such a sad person, and you don’t want to do anything to bring that sadness more to the surface. You enjoy spending time with him, and want to make sure he’s comfortable around you as well.

You pull the books you brought him out of your bag and place them on the counter as you wait for the tea to be ready. After a few minutes, he slides one mug over to you, picking up his own and the copy of Paradise Lost, and leads the way into the living room.

Adam has two chairs in the living room, but very large, but dwarfed by virtue of being the only furniture in the room. He seats himself in one, and you sit in the other, wrapping your fingers around your mug as you watch Adam settle down. You can hear the wind pick up again outside, driving the rain against the window, and you smile at the comfort of being inside to read in the face of such weather.

“I’m going to skip the invocation of the muse, if you don’t mind?” Adam asks.

“Fine by me,” you reply.

He nods and begins reading.

“Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,

Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause

Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,

Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off

From their Creator, and transgress his will

For one restraint, lords of the World besides.

Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?"

"Th' infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,

Stirred up with envy and revenge...”

Adam pauses, setting his tea on the arm of his chair to again run his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you’re picking up on more each time he does it.

“Adam?” you ask. “We can read something else if you want. I can get through this one myself.”

He looks up from the book, meeting your eyes. You’re a bit concerned to see the anxious crinkling of his brows.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

After a moment, he sighs and closes his eyes, nodding. “Yes. It’s just… old memories. I do love this story, but there are some unhappy memories associated.”

“Do you want to read something else?”

Another silent moment, then he smiles and opens his eyes, picking up his tea again. “No. I want  _ you  _ to enjoy this story, and perhaps my old memories will be overwritten by the new. Shall I continue?”

You’re mostly reassured, and nod for him to continue, leaning back into your chair and taking a sip of your own tea as Adam reads on.


	7. Chapter 7

You keep meeting with Adam twice a week; out in the forest when the weather is nice, and at his house when it's not.

Today, the first frost covered the ground, and though Adam has stated that the cold doesn't bother him, you would rather sit in the warmth of a house than in a chilly forest. Besides, you made cookies for the two of you, and they would be better with tea or hot chocolate.

You have a new book for class, and are looking forward to reading it. Well, to listening to your friend read it. Honestly, at this point in the class, you could probably read these books on your own and actually get something out of them, but you like listening to Adam read out loud, and he seems to enjoy reading to you.

You knock at his door, and he answers it with barely a delay. Sometimes you wonder if he waits just on the other side of the door for your arrival before each meeting. In any case, his dining room chair has remained unscathed since that first meeting at his house.

"I brought cookies!" you announce as he gestures you inside. You hear his electric kettle click off as it reaches boiling point. The container of cookies goes beside it, and you switch out the small pile of books sitting on the counter with the ones you brought Adam from the library this time.

You aren't entirely sure how he goes through these books so quickly, especially since some of them are very technical or dense, but he's assured you each time that he has indeed finished the ones you brought.

Adam pulls down your favored mug, also pulling out one for himself, and begins preparing the tea. "You have a new book for class this time?"

Nodding, you pull the latest book from your bag and show it to him.

Adam goes still, overflowing one of the mugs and sending scalding water flowing across the counter-top.

Shocked, you jump to move the library books out of the way as Adam pulls his attention back to his task and reaches for a towel to mop up the mess.

You're both silent until the spilled water has been mopped up. Finally, Adam speaks. "I will not read that book to you."

You look at the offending book. Frankenstein. It seems innocuous enough, the origin of a cheesy horror franchise and a slew of Halloween marketing. Of course, you've been warned that the book doesn't much resemble such portrayals, but you never did read it in high school to find out just how far off they are.

"Ok," you say slowly. "Do you… want to read something different? I can read this on my own later."

He regards you solemnly for a long moment. "It… may be best for you to read it yourself, here. I would like to see your reaction, but I will not personally read out its words."

Adam's reaction puzzles you, but you suppose an afternoon of the two of you reading on your own will be nice too. Perhaps he had a bad experience with the horror franchise when he was young?

After a moment of puzzling, you nod. "Alright."

Adam sighs, shoulders slumping slightly in either relief or nervousness, and finishes preparing the tea. You open the container of cookies, take two and your mug of tea, and follow Adam into the living room.

The quiet is broken only by birdsong coming in through an open window, the cool breeze coming in making a nice contrast to the cozy chair and hot tea.

Adam brought a book of his own to his seat, but after several minutes you realize that he is not as engrossed as he would like you to think; stealing nervous glances at you occasionally.

It isn't until you get to the description of Victor's time at Ingolstadt that you finally catch on to just why Adam reacted so strongly to this particular book.

You look up to see him watching you solemnly, his brows furrowed in anxiety to see your reaction.

"This… isn't fiction, is it?" you ask.

"It is not."

"How?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "If I knew how, would I still be alone?"

"Would you?"

He regards you for a moment, then slowly nods his head and looks away. "Yes. Given some perspective, I would not wish my existence upon anyone."

"But how are you still alive?" you ask. "This was 200 years ago."

"Again, I do not know. I have simply endured, unnatural and unaging."

You look back down at the book in your hand. This should be an impossibility, but here sits this man, larger than life, nervously waiting for your judgement.

"You should finish the book," Adam says, his usually-smooth voice nearly hoarse with anxiety. "I want you to know what I have done."

You frown, looking back up at him then back down at your book. "Whatever you did in this book was 200 years ago," you reply. Adam has given you no reason to fear him, but you wonder just what deeds this book contains.

"Please, read on, and then make your judgement."

It hurts to hear the tone in his voice. You suspect that he is on the verge of tears, but you obligingly nod and read on.

It's growing dark when you reach the end of Frankenstein. At some point, Adam stood and turned on the lights, then returned to his chair to resume nervously watching you.

You have to admit, there is a lot to take in from the book. You close it, thinking on what you learned; on what was supposed to be a  _ fictional _ story. Adam does not interrupt your contemplation.

"You were… no more than five years old by the end of this book," you finally say.

This doesn't seem to be the words he expects, but he nods.

Little more than a toddler… emotionally speaking. And alone. Utterly and completely alone except for a creator who despised him.

"I understand why you lashed out," you say.

"Despite  _ why _ I may have done so, it was still murder."

"200 years ago. I don't think you continued such behavior afterward?" It's a question. You want to know what Adam did once the impetus of rejection and revenge was gone, to know if your instincts about him are right.

"I did not," he breathes. "I could not. My hands… were already stained with more than enough blood to damn me."

You nod. "Ok."

He frowns. "Ok?"

"It was 200 years ago, and you've spent your whole life since trying to be better, right?"

"I… suppose."

You shrug. "That's enough for me. I'll admit, I'm really curious as to just how you work, but I'm not going to pry." You pause, and this time it's your turn to be hesitant. "Now that I know all this, though… are you still interested in our reading sessions?"

"Of course! If… you are."

You nod. "Even after my class ends, if you'd still be down for it."

Adam finally relaxes, smiling as he nods. "Yes. Thank you." The relief in his voice tears at your heart, emphasizing just how much rejection he's faced over his long life.

Standing, you take your long-empty mug to the kitchen, Adam following behind. You recover the cookie container, offering him a few more before closing it up to take home. 

"You're my friend," you say, swinging your backpack back across your shoulders. "Being a scientific marvel doesn't change that, and neither does whatever you did 200 years ago, ok?"

Adam nods, his smile slowly gaining more confidence. "Very well. It… means a lot to me. Your friendship means a lot to me."

You smile at his words. "I'll find something else for us to read next time?"

"I am looking forward to it."

You nod and step up to him to pull him into a hug. Something tells you he hasn't had many of them.

For a brief moment, Adam tenses in surprise, then wraps his long arms around you and nearly melts into the embrace. After nearly a full minute the two of you pull apart, and you give him a bright smile as you step outside, waving farewell until next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I don't have plans to write further chapters, but maybe eventually I'll write more adventures between the reader and Adam ;)
> 
> Thanks for all the support, and I'm so happy so many people have enjoyed this!


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